Smoke and Mirrors in Ballykissangel
by SwissMiss1
Summary: Completely A.U. Loosely based on Agatha Christie's 'They Do It With Mirrors'. A brutal murder shocks Ballykissangel. Peter follows the investigation and learns some disturbing things.
1. Chapter 1

This is not a Harry Potter fan fiction. I had to say that because I think most of the people following me on here are HP fans. But feel free to read on in any case, I think it's an interesting story even if you aren't a Ballykissangel fan. :)

**Smoke and Mirrors in Ballykissangel**

**by SwissMiss**

_A Ballykissangel fan fiction loosely based on Agatha Christie's novel 'They Do It With Mirrors'. Ballykissangel and the Ballykissangel characters were created by Kieran Prendiville and are owned by BBC and World Productions. No rights are asserted in the creation of this work, other than the right to distribute this piece of fan fiction itself. (In other words, you didn't write it, don't try to pass it off as yours!)_

"Father, I have something to tell you." The male voice on the other side of the grille in the confessional spoke in a hoarse whisper.

Peter Clifford nodded -- an automatic gesture, unable as they were to see each other. "Go on," he said encouragingly.

"It concerns Niamh. Niamh Quigley – Egan," the voice added, as if correcting itself.

Peter sat up a bit straighter.

"Someone wants to harm her."

"If you know something, you should go to the police," Peter said in all seriousness.

"No!" the stranger said quickly. "I don't know anything for sure. It's just a feeling. Please. I didn't know who else to go to." He sounded hurried and nervous.

"Is this a confession? Have you done something? Are you tempted to do something?" Peter was a bit confused.

"God knows what I've done I have my reasons for. I just don't want to see Mrs. Egan come to any harm."

"Well, if you'd like to step outside, we could discuss this—"

"No!" Peter heard the man standing up with a rustling of material. "I'm sorry, I—Just keep an eye out for her, will you, Father? I don't want her to be hurt."

The curtain on the other side of the confessional swished open, and heavy footsteps clacked quickly across the tiled floor. Peter pulled the curtain on his side back in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the mysterious informant, but the next parishioner was already entering the confessional.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

Peter sat back down, disturbed and distracted by the incident.

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"Good afternoon, Father," Kathleen trilled. "Will this be all?" She began ringing up Peter's purchases.

"Yes, thanks, Kathleen. Any good news?"

"Oh, have you heard about the Convention of Irish Brethren?" she said with a hint of pride.

Peter frowned goodnaturedly. "No, what's that?"

"A gathering of our good, Irish monks. 'Tis taking place up in Bally-Na-Cleogh this weekend. They've come from every county, even Ulster. I've already caught a glimpse of one tour bus come through this morning."

"Really? That's quite interesting," Peter commented politely. "Oh, is this new?" He indicated a small cardboard box with a slit in the top that stood next to the cash register. On the side was an emblem and 'Wicklow Catholic Charities' printed in bright, primary colors.

"Oh yes, I do feel that we should support our local charities," she simpered. "Any change you can spare will go directly to needy Catholics in our area. There you are, that will be fifteen-thirty."

"Sounds like a good cause. You can just add the change from this transaction here." He handed Kathleen a note.

"God bless you, Father," she said as she opened the register, put the note in and took out some coins, then dropped them into the cardboard box. "If only everyone were as generous. You might mention something in your sermon this Sunday." She packed up his items in a paper bag.

"I'll take it under consideration, Kathleen," he promised. "It's a good principle to begin charity at home."

"Amen, Father. That it is."

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"I'm surprised they're lodging here." Peter was watching Assumpta with amusement as she dealt with six men in long brown robes over at the hotel desk.

"Not enough room at the inn," Niamh said as she slid a plate with the lunch special in front of Peter. "Or in this case, at the monastery. Sure, they're boarding at every B&B from here to Dunatree."

"I didn't mean just that. I meant Assumpta letting them have rooms here at all. I thought she'd sworn off the clergy after those three golfing buddies of Father Mac's."

"Hard coin speaks volumes, Father. She needs the business."

The pub door opened behind Peter and a small, dark-haired man with a three-day growth of beard and a dirty tweed cap came in, his shifty eyes darting around the room before they alighted on Niamh, who was pulling a pint.

"Niamh Quigley!" he shouted.

Niamh looked up sharply. "That's Mrs. Egan to you, Mossy Phelan."

"You're still your father's daughter, aren't you?" he said, coming over to stand next to Peter. "Where is the old fox? He's been avoiding me. It's owing me money, he does. He won't weasel out of it this time."

"I'm not my father's secretary," Niamh said, setting the pint down in front of Peter, who was watching the exchange with interest, not unmindful of the incident in the confessional from the day before.

"But you'll tell him I'm after speaking with him, won't you, Missus?" Mossy bored his gaze into Niamh's.

"You'll have to take it up with him, as I said. Now either order something, or be off with you!" Niamh put her fists on her hips.

"I'll be back, you can mark my words." He looked around at the other patrons, who by now had all fallen quiet and were watching him. "Good day to all of you. Father." He nodded his respect to Peter, tapped one finger to his cap, and left.

"What was that about?" Peter asked Niamh.

She shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I have no idea. I try to keep out of my father's business." She moved off to serve someone else down the bar.

As Peter watched her, his eye slid automatically over to Assumpta, who was trying to sort out the room keys. Peter laughed to himself, thinking once again of Father MacAnally's friends. Well, at least there was no play rehearsal for them to barge in on. Peter felt his ears becoming red at the memory. At that moment, Assumpta looked over at him and rolled her eyes. Peter smirked and raised his glass to her.

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"I'm back, I'm back!" Assumpta banged open the pub door, juggling two large cardboard boxes. Peter jumped up from his stool and took one from her.

"Where is everyone?" Assumpta asked as she dropped the other box heavily down onto the bar top. For a Friday night, the pub was surprisingly empty. Aside from Peter, Padraig, and Brendan at the bar, and a young local couple at a dark table in the corner, there was no one else there.

"It's been quiet," Niamh said, shrugging, as she began to pull bags of crisps out of the box and stow them under the bar.

"You see?" Assumpta said to no one in particular. "This is why I didn't want to give those rooms to the friars. In bed by six o'clock they are, and fasting to cleanse their souls as well, no doubt." She took the second box from Peter and carried it into the kitchen. "Oh, Niamh, I have your prescription here!" she called over her shoulder.

"Prescription?" Peter asked, again alert to anything being possibly amiss with Niamh. "Is anything wrong?"

"I'm a bit anemic is all, Father," Niamh said. "That and Ambrose and I are trying for another baby," she added with a sly smile. "Vitamins and such."

"Ah," was all Peter said, looking back down at his drink with an embarrassed grin. Padraig and Brendan nudged each other and chuckled.

Assumpta came back out and tossed a white paper bag to Niamh. "Ah, shush, the two of youse!" Assumpta admonished them. "You'll be glad for another desk filled in your school, Brendan!"

"Sure, Assumpta. If I'm still teaching then. I'm up for review again."

"Oh, pshaw! You've nothing to worry about, Brendan Kearney," Niamh said. "You're the best teacher this town has seen in all the years I've been here."

"He's the only teacher this town has seen since you've been here," Padraig quipped in his deep, gravelly voice.

"That doesn't mean he's not a fine teacher," Niamh said stubbornly. "Don't you worry, Brendan. You'll pass the review with flying colors. Who's on the board now?"

"Doc Ryan, Father MacAnally, Georgie O'Donnell, Wanda Connor, and Osh Kirby."

"Those are all fair people, Brendan. Niamh's right, you have nothing to worry about," Peter said.

"Oh, I didn't say I was worried," Brendan said, and he certainly didn't seem to be particularly concerned about anything at the moment.

"Well, speak of the devil," Padraig mumbled, as just then the pub door opened and Father Mac came in.

"What's that, O'Kelley?" the priest asked sharply, hardly had he closed the door firmly behind him.

"Nothing, Father," Peter jumped to Padraig's rescue. "We were just discussing Brendan's upcoming review by the school board."

"Hmph," Father Mac grunted. "Mere formality, waste of everyone's time, if you ask me," he grumbled. "That's not why I'm here, in any case." He stepped up to the bar and eased himself down onto the seat next to Peter. "Niamh, I'm after your father," he announced.

"Him and half the town, seems like," Padraig commented into his beer.

"What's that?" Father Mac turned to Padraig.

"Nothing, Father," Padraig said more clearly. "Just seems like a lot of people are looking for Brian Quigley, is all."

"Is that so?" Father Mac's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And why would that be?"

"Oh, the usual reasons," Niamh said lightly, wiping down the bar in front of Father Mac. "Can I get you anything, Father?"

"Whiskey, please, Niamh. Usual."

As she moved away to fill the order, Father Mac inquired pointedly: "And who was it asking after Brian?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Finally, Peter supplied, "Mossy Phelan was in earlier. Something about being owed money."

"Ach, Mossy's always on about someone owing him money," Father Mac said with a dismissive gesture. "More often than not it's not even true. True enough, when does the man even have two cents to rub together himself, much less loan it out to others?" Niamh set the small tumbler of golden liquid down in front of him.

"Right you are, Father," Padraig said. "Slainte." He raised his glass.

"Slainte," returned Father Mac and took a sip of his own drink. "Although, one has to admit," he continued, smacking his lips, "Brian Quigley's had more than his fair share of money troubles through the years."

"If so, it's only because he's too trusting," Niamh said with a troubled expression. "He's just had bad luck with unscrupulous business partners."

"Still," Father Mac said, but left the rest of his opinion hanging.

"Anyway, I don't know why everyone thinks I know where he is," Niamh said. "I haven't seen him in three days." She looked at Peter with sudden fear. "You don't think anything's happened to him, do you?"

Peter was about to answer something noncomittal yet comforting, when Father Mac spoke up: "I'm certain he's fine, Niamh, I didn't mean to upset you. I have actually had him on his cell phone several times today, but the connection keeps breaking up, or else his battery runs out. So he says, at any rate. I have my doubts," he said and finished up his whiskey with a grimace. "You will let him know I need to talk to him if you see him, won't you?"

"Of course, Father," Niamh promised.

"The same goes for the rest of you," Father Mac said, looking around. "Not that I expect Quigley to listen to good advice, he's never followed it before." And with that cryptic comment, he bade everyone a good night.

"Strange," was all that Brendan said once the priest had left.

"Oh, leave it be, all of you," Niamh scolded. "My father's business is just that, his own." She scowled and went to collect the empty glasses from around the room.

"Right, I'll just be in here unpacking if you need me," Assumpta said, going into the kitchen.

"I'll help you," Peter volunteered and followed her.

"It's just this one box, Peter," Assumpta said once they were in the kitchen. "Nothing heavy, just some cleaning supplies."

He pulled the box open and started handing the items to her. "What do you make of all this business with Brian?" he asked in a confidential tone.

Assumpta shot a look at the door to make sure it was closed. "Nothing at all. Like Niamh said, Brian's business is his own. As long as it doesn't affect my business, I don't want to know anything about it." She went into the pantry, carrying plastic packages of rubber gloves and sponges.

Peter hefted the large box into his arms and brought it over to the pantry, where he stood in the doorway. "But it seems to have something to do with Niamh," he said in a low voice.

Assumpta made a skeptical expression. "You think? She said she didn't know anything about it." She took a bottle of cleanser from him.

"I'm not so sure. He's her father, after all. She could be covering for him."

"And so what if she is?" Assumpta seemed annoyed with the entire subject. "It'll just be another one of Quigley's little schemes blowing up in his face. He'll end up with pie on his face, maybe a minor financial setback, and things will go on as usual."

"You could be right," Peter said doubtfully. "I just... I don't know, I'm worred about Niamh. With a new baby and all..."

"She's not pregnant yet, Peter!" Assumpta said with a laugh. "Or maybe she is, I don't know. She hasn't said anything yet, if so."

"I've had a bit of a tip..." Peter admitted reluctantly. "Nothing concrete, but... Would you keep an eye out for Niamh?"

"What in the world is that supposed to mean?" Assumpta paused with her hand on the box in Peter's arms.

"I'm not sure myself. I just have the feeling that something's brewing, and Niamh might be in the middle of it." He tried to convey his disquiet by means of a penetrating look, but Assumpta looked away suddenly and rummaged in the box.

"Whatever trouble Brian Quigley's in, he won't let it touch Niamh, not if he can help it."

"I hope so," Peter said, wondering what had caused Assumpta's apparent discomfort. "But you know Brian, he can be blind when it comes to making money."

"Sure, if you say so, Father," she said lightly, turning away quickly with the last of the supplies. "Thanks for the help," she tossed back over her shoulder, clearly indicating that the conversation was over.

Peter felt slightly confused. Had he missed something? "Sure," he said awkwardly. "I'll just... leave the empty box here on the table then, shall I?"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great," Assumpta said loudly, over the sound of shifting things around in the pantry.

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The rest of the weekend passed uneventfully. The monks had celebrated Mass at the church on Saturday evening, rounding off the service with a medieval choral number, which Peter had enjoyed immensely. He'd checked up on Niamh a couple of times over the weekend, but by the end was feeling quite silly. Whatever the mysterious parishioner had meant by his warning, it had certainly blown over by now.

Now, Sunday evening, he was due to meet with Father MacAnally in a few minutes to discuss the coming month's scheduling. It was a warm night, and the vestry had heated up during the day, so he'd opened the narrow, leaded windows wide to try and catch a bit of a breeze.

Presently, he heard voices outside, one of them clearly being Father Mac's, and the other, he decided after a moment, Brian Quigley's. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but the voices were louder than one would expect for an exchange of pleasantries, from which Peter surmised that there was some disagreement.

The few scraps of the conversation that wafted in disturbed Peter greatly. It seemed to have something to do with Niamh and Ambrose. He leaned closer to the window, but couldn't make out much more than " ... come clean ..." "... Ambrose ..." "... hurt Niamh ..." "... thought of that before ..." "... accuse me ..."

And finally, he heard Brian Quigley's parting shot loud and clear: "You do what you have to, Father, and I'll do the same!" After that the sound of hard shoes on gravel, and the main church door opening.

"Oh, that man has some gall!" Father Mac fumed as he entered the vestry. His face was bright red, and there was a line of sweat on his brow.

"Who?" Peter asked innocently.

"Brian Quigley, that's who," Father Mac said through bared teeth. "One of these days..."

"Father, wouldn't you like to sit down? Your heart..." Peter took Father Mac's arm solicitously and led him to a chair. "Maybe some water...?"

Father Mac waved Peter off. "I'm fine. Or I will be after tonight. He's left me no recourse. This has to be passed on to the proper channels."

"Is it anything I can help with?" Peter asked, concerned. "I couldn't help but hear you mention Niamh..."

Father Mac frowned. "Eavesdropping, were you? I'm not surprised. Out of respect for the family, I'm afraid I can't share anything more. I've likely already overstepped my authority in doing as much as I have. Now, let's get this scheduling out of the way and I can be about the rest of my business."

Peter didn't push the point, but he was distracted and unhappy, agreeing to all of Father Mac's suggestions without paying much attention to what he was saying. So there was something going on with Niamh! Something that involved Brian. Was this what the man in the confessional had meant? And who was going to do something that might hurt Niamh? Brian? Father Mac? Or Ambrose?

Peter was glad when Father Mac finally dismissed him, saying he needed privacy to make a phone call and that he would lock up when he was done. Troubled, Peter wandered down to the pub, hoping to find out more, or at least to have someone talk sense to him and dismiss his fears.

When he got there, though, far from being a refuge and oasis of friendliness, it appeared to be the scene of a loud and heated argument between Brian Quigley and Mossy Phelan.

Assumpta was standing between them, one hand on each man's chest, apparently in an attempt to stop them from coming to blows.

"All right, all right, fellas!" she shouted. "Take it outside!"

"You heard her, Phelan!" Brian roared. "Outside!"

"You ain't getting rid of me that easy, Quigley! I'll leave when I've got me money and not one second before!"

"If you don't the both of you leave my pub on the spot, I'll have the gardai after you!"

"Fine!" Before anyone else could react, Brian had grabbed Mossy by the collar and pulled him around the bar and into the kitchen.

"Hey! You can't go in there, that's—" Assumpta ran after them and pushed against the door, but it didn't give. "I don't believe it!" She turned around and gaped at the gawking onlookers. "They've actually gone and bolted my own door!"

"Do you want me to break it down, Assumpta?" Padraig asked gamely.

"No! I certainly do not. Just what I need, more repair bills. Just... go about your business, everyone," she said crossly and stomped away.

But far from losing interest, the small crowd – which included Niamh and Brendan -- sat still as mice and with bated breath, listening to the argument continuing behind the closed door, of which every word came through into the pub loud and clear. It seemed that Mossy Phelan was insisting that he had done some services for Brian and never received payment. What the nature of those services was remained vague, but there was repeated mention of 'trouble with the law' if Brian didn't pay up, and soon. Brian didn't seem to be putting up much of a defense; the main content of the audible conversation involved Mossy going on at some length about honor, trust, and a good businessman's reputation. Brian hardly seemed to be able to get a word in edgewise.

Peter stood as close to the kitchen door as he could get, listening intently for some mention of Niamh, but she didn't seem to figure at all in this scenario. At one point, he noticed a man he didn't recognize poke his head in and catch Assumpta's eye, at which she slipped out with him; Peter was curious, but didn't want to leave his post in order to find out what was going on. Still, he kept half of his attention in the direction Assumpta had gone, and he registered a couple of loud bangs that sounded like something being unloaded from a truck. A short while later, Assumpta returned, brushing her hands on her jeans, and Peter relaxed: She must have taken some delivery. Although it was dark already, pretty late for normal delivery hours.

In the meantime, the argument in the kitchen seemed to be going in circles, with neither party either giving or making ground, and presently, a great thump, as of a chair being knocked over, could be heard, followed by a metallic crashing.

"Oh for the love of--!" Assumpta exclaimed, rushing over to bang on the door. "Open up in there! You'll be paying for any damages, Brian Quigley!"

"I think it's time to call in Ambrose," Peter said loudly over everyone's heads. "Brendan?"

"I'm on it," the schoolteacher said, and was out the door in two long strides. As he left, Liam wandered in, a goofy grin on his face.

"What's going on?" he asked loudly, taking in the crowd gathered around the kitchen door.

As one, the entire group shushed him, not turning away from the door for a second. Liam climbed up onto a bar stool and bothered the man standing next to him for an explanation, but before he could say anything, the kitchen door was unbolted, and Mossy Phelan and Brian Quigley came out, both red in the face, Brian mopping his brow. He had his arm around Mossy as if they were best friends, and announced to the assembly: "This here is a good man. I'm sorry for the upset, folks. Sometimes it just takes a—" but the rest of his speech was lost as Brendan burst back in, crying out, "It's Father Mac! Call an ambulance—and the gardai!"

Immediately, tumult ensued. Peter pushed his way through the crowd that was trying to spill out the door, bellowing out directions: "Padraig, keep everyone out of the way! Let me through, I know CPR!"

Brendan, however, blocked the doorway and shook his head at Peter, the shock evident in his features. "All you'll be able to give him is the Last Rites, Peter. Looks like he was shot in the face."

END PART 1

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	2. Chapter 2

Smoke and Mirrors in Ballykissangel

Part 2

It was nearly midnight by the time some semblance of order had been achieved. Brendan had found Father Mac collapsed in the doorway of the garda station. Ambrose had been out on a bedtime stroll with Kieran, and had returned to find the street illuminated by the flashing lights from the ambulance. Unfortunately, all the paramedics had been able to do was confirm the death.

Reinforcements were called in from Wicklow, and all potential witnesses were asked to remain in the pub until such time as they could be interviewed. Only Niamh and Kieran had been allowed to leave, to Brian's house, as they would be unable to use their apartment above the garda station until the crime scene specialists were done over there.

The mood in the pub was somber, to say the least. A uniformed officer stood guard in the room, both to prevent anyone from leaving, and to make sure that no one discussed the night's events: The gardai didn't want to give anyone an opportunity to corroborate their stories.

Due to the special circumstances, Ambrose had asked Assumpta for permission to use her kitchen as a makeshift office, which she had immediately agreed to. Peter was the first one they called in.

"Have a seat, Father," Ambrose said, indicating a chair opposite him at the table. "This is Officer Kirby," he said, acknowledging the female garda next to him. "She'll be recording the interview, if that's all right with you." Peter could tell that Ambrose was nervous, but he was still able to maintain a remarkable degree of calm and professionalism.

"Yes, that's fine, Ambrose," Peter said.

"Fine." Ambrose consulted some papers in front of him and went through the formalities of stating names, dates, and locations for the record.

"Well, Father," he finally began. "Now. I know this is a terrible shock for you. For all of us. We need to gather as much information as possible, to catch and bring to justice whoever did this. If you would, tell us everything you can that you believe might be pertinent to tonight's incident, no matter how insignificant the detail might have seemed to you at the time."

Peter's thoughts were all a-whir. He wasn't sure where exactly to begin, but decided to start with the overheard conversation between Quigley and the priest earlier that evening. He regretted that he couldn't recall more of what had been said, but then, as he pointed out, Brian could hardly have had anything to do with the attack on Father Mac, having been in the kitchen at Fitzgerald's practically from the moment he'd left Father Mac up at the church right up until Brendan had discovered the body.

He did feel a little uncomfortable mentioning the fact that he'd heard Ambrose's name dropped in the course of the conversation, but a man had been murdered, and this was no time for playing favorites. Not that Ambrose had had anything to do with it, of course, but he still felt disloyal naming him.

Beyond that, he said he was afraid he wasn't able to be much help. He'd been inside the pub with everyone else, and hadn't seen or heard anything that might be relevant. He did ask, though, if anyone had checked out the church for signs of an intruder or a struggle. He thought it possible that someone might have overcome Father Mac up at the church, possibly even shot him there, and that the priest had then made his way down to the garda station before collapsing. Not that he really thought it was possible for the old priest to have survived long enough to get from the church to the garda station, not with the grave injuries he'd suffered. No, it was much more likely that he'd been shot where he was found.

Ambrose looked interested, though, and said he would send someone up to the church right away and cordon off the area in case there were evidence such as footprints or other traces such as blood in the gravel yard.

Not having any further questions at the moment, Ambrose thanked Peter and escorted him out, where he gave instructions to one of the Wicklow officers and then asked Brendan in for the next interview.

Peter wandered out of the pub in a daze; the bloody scene in front of the garda station would stay with him for the rest of his life, he was sure. Luckily, it had been dark, or he might not have been able to stomach it. The gardai had let him give the poor old priest his Final Sacrament once they'd finished with taking pictures and loaded the body onto the gurney. He'd had to pull down the sheet in order to anoint the man's forehead ... or what was left of it. Brendan was right, he must have been shot directly in the face. Whatever he might have thought of Father MacAnally and his methods, he hadn't deserved to die like that. At least it was probably quick and painless. He'd likely never even known what had hit him.

But who would do such a thing? And why? These questions, along with the bloody images seared into his brain, didn't give him any rest all night.

Early the next morning, he arose from a half-sleep to someone knocking at his door. He stumbled from the couch, where he had been lying, to find Ambrose Egan standing on his doorstep. He also looked as if he hadn't slept a wink.

"Ambrose, come in," Peter said groggily. "I'm just about to make some coffee. Care for a cup?"

"If I have any more coffee, I won't get to sleep for a week," Ambrose said, following him into the kitchen. "We just finished the interviews a couple of hours ago, and I've been working on the paperwork since then. I'll go home after this, try and come down. Well, to Brian's anyway. Won't be able to get into our place for another day or so." He sat down as Peter started up the hot water. "How are you, Peter?"

"In shock. I can't believe it. Poor Father Mac..."

"I have the number of a psychologist here." Ambrose placed a business card on the table. "She specializes in counseling witnesses and survivors of violence: hostage takings, train wrecks, you know."

"Yeah, I guess I might qualify," Peter said grimly. "How do you get used to seeing scenes like that? I know—" He held up his hand to stop Ambrose from answering. "You don't." He opened his refrigerator. "If you're sure you don't want anything? Warm milk maybe?"

"Thanks, Father. Actually, I'm here hoping for some advice..."

Peter looked at him quizzically.

"This is the first murder investigation I've worked on, and I want to do everything by the book, but I'm thinking I might like to have someone to talk to a bit, you know, bounce ideas off of. Before I go to a meeting with the bigwigs in Wicklow and look like a country bumpkin."

"Well, I don't really know anything about police investigations, Ambrose. Far less than you, anyway."

"Oh, don't worry, Father. I don't mean asking anything about procedures. Just... Well, for instance. I feel all right sharing this with you, as you mentioned it yourself. You said that you overheard a conversation between Brian and Father Mac last night."

"Overheard is a bit strong, Ambrose," Peter protested. "I heard _that_ they had a conversation, and I may have been able to catch some few phrases. Beyond that..."

"Yes, well, Brian told me the entire content of that conversation. And you said yourself that you heard Niamh's name mentioned."

"Yes, that's right," Peter agreed. "I'm certain that her name came up. Oh, there's the water," he said as the carafe began bubbling. He got up to fill his mug while Ambrose continued to talk.

"Well, and now here's the tricky part. Brian told me that Father Mac came to him with the information that someone was trying to poison Niamh."

Peter became excited; this fit in with what the man in the confessional had said to him earlier in the week, although he hadn't gone so far as to specifically mention poison. However, he kept quiet and sat back down, waiting for Ambrose to finish.

"How he came to this information was never made explicit, but Brian was led to assume it had been in the confessional. Brian says he urged Father Mac to come to me immediately, but it seems he was reluctant to break the confidentiality of the confessional in such an official manner. Also, nothing was really specific. It was more of a warning, not even a threat, he said. Or rather, Brian said that he said."

"That makes sense," Peter said, stirring his coffee carefully and debating with himself whether to reveal that he had had a similiar visitor in his confessional. He decided that, for the time being at least, it wasn't necessary for him to say anything, as he couldn't add any further information to what Ambrose already knew. "But you're taking it seriously, I assume?"

"I'm not sure what to think. Nothing's happened with Niamh, and the supposed warning must have been at least a couple of days ago. I don't want to upset her, of course, not with her condition..." Ambrose fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers.

"Her condition...?" Peter prompted hopefully.

Ambrose looked sheepish. "We don't know anything for sure... But she might be."

"Congratulations!"

Ambrose shook his head. "Like I said, we don't know for certain. Don't say anything to Niamh, she doesn't want... You know, after what happened the first time..."

"You can count on me, Ambrose," Peter said.

"Anyway, you can see how delicate the situation is. On the one hand, I don't want to alarm her unnecessarily. It could be there's nothing to it. On the other hand, if there is someone trying to poison her, she should know!"

"Yes, absolutely." Peter took a small sip of his coffee. "So what are you going to do?"

"There may be more, Father."

"Oh?"

Ambrose became all business. "This morning, Niamh called me. It seems she couldn't find her vitamins, although she said she was certain she'd taken them with her in her purse when she went to Brian's last night. She wanted me to pick up another bottle, as we won't be able to get into our flat for a couple of days."

Peter nodded, but didn't interrupt.

"Not five minutes afterwards, Brian came storming in. He had the vitamins. Told me I should have them analyzed."

"And—?"

"Results won't be back for a couple of days. I don't even know what to look for." Ambrose looked at Peter helplessly.

Peter whistled and sat back. "If there is anything to the story, it's not just vitamin tablets you have to watch out for."

"True enough. But like I said, I don't want to upset her if it turns out to be someone playing a prank."

"Agreed."

"Could you help me out, Father? Maybe keep an eye on her a bit?"

"Oh, Ambrose, I—" Peter shook his head and put up his hands.

"It's just that I have this investigation. I can't be watching her all the time," Ambrose wheedled. "Brian'll be there most of the time, but..."

"I understand." Peter nodded. Ambrose wanted a neutral party. "How about this: I'll invite her for lunch at Fitzgerald's. That's at least one meal covered."

"Thanks, Father." Ambrose beamed.

"But you'll let me know when you hear back about those vitamins?"

"Of course, Father."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Peter said.

"I hope you're right, Father."

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"Ah, Peter!" Brendan motioned for Peter to join him when he entered Fitzgerald's shortly before his scheduled date with Niamh.

"Brendan," Peter returned, settling himself on a stool. "Nothing yet, Assumpta," he said when she looked over at him questioningly. "I'm meeting Niamh for lunch."

"I'd better get the cauldron fired up then," she said in an ominous voice. "Bubble bubble." She moved off into the kitchen.

Peter gave her a funny look. With the talk of poisoning from that morning, he found it an odd comment to come from her. But then she didn't know anything about it. Or did she?

"Terrible thing about Father MacAnally," Brendan said, distracting Peter from that train of thought. "Did he have any family?"

Peter frowned. "A sister down in Clonakilty, I think. Well, and his nephew Timmy."

"Ah yes, the priest-in-waiting. Did he ever make it official?"

"I don't know," Peter said, not without regret. There was actually so little Peter knew about the man. He had been more of a figurehead than a person to him.

"Doesn't look like there were any witnesses," Brendan went on.

"Hm?" Peter came back to the conversation with difficulty.

"Last night. In the street. It was dark already. I must have gotten there just after it happened. Didn't hear or see a thing."

"It is strange," Peter agreed. "He must have come down straight after I'd left him up at the church. That no one heard a gun going off, or saw anyone running away..."

Both men turned around as the door opened. Niamh struggled to hold the door open with one hand whilst maneuvering Kieran's pram through it with the other. Peter immediately jumped up to help her.

"I'm glad you could come, Niamh," Peter greeted her graciously. "I didn't like to think of you all alone out there."

"Thanks, Father." Niamh flashed him a tired smile. "I didn't get a wink all night, I don't mind admitting. And not because of this little devil." She looked fondly down at Kieran, who was sound asleep on his back in the pram.

"I don't think any of us did," Peter agreed.

"It just doesn't make any sense," Niamh said as she collapsed into a chair. "Who would want to hurt poor old Father MacAnally?"

"Who indeed?" Brendan asked ominously. "And why?"

Peter didn't want to say anything about the conversation he'd overheard between Father Mac and Brian, nor about any possible connection to Niamh. Speculation could only lead to rumours and possibly impede the investigation.

"When do you think you'll be able to get back into your flat?" Peter asked, to change the subject. "Ambrose said something about another day or so."

"I hope it's that soon. I don't think I could stand living with my father for weeks on end. Did you know," Niamh said, leaning in close to Peter for confidentiality, "I caught him going through my purse this morning."

Peter was careful to keep his expression mildly curious. "Why would he do that?"

"I'm not sure. I didn't let on that I'd seen him. I wouldn't like to think of my own father raiding my pocketbook." Niamh leaned back and smirked. "Not that I was completely innocent as a teenager when my mates and I wanted to go to the movies."

Peter smiled, but turned serious again right away. "Niamh, I want you to promise me you'll be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there's a killer on the loose. I just mean... look out for yourself. And your wee one."

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"Brian! This is a surprise." Peter opened his door wider and invited Brian Quigley into the house. Brian strode right into the sitting room, pulling his hat off as he went.

"I heard you and Niamh had lunch at Fitzgerald's."

"Yes, that's right," Peter said, closing the door and going in to join Brian.

"I don't want her eating there. Or anywhere else, for that matter, but especially at Assumpta Fitzgerald's place."

Peter gave a little laugh. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Brian's temper flared. "Don't play games with me, Father. I know that Ambrose told you about the poisoning story."

"He did," Peter admitted. "Which is why I invited Niamh into town for lunch. Ambrose asked me to keep an eye on her. I thought it more appropriate than having her over here."

Brian picked up a glass paperweight from the table and turned it over in his hand. "Did you know that Assumpta borrowed a large sum of money from my daughter?"

Peter was surprised. "No, I didn't. But I don't see--"

"And they didn't draw up an official I.O.U. Some nonsense about keeping things friendly."

"Ah, I'm beginning to see. So if Niamh dies, Assumpta doesn't have to pay back the loan," Peter said cynically. "Come on, Brian. You know Assumpta—"

Brian fixed Peter with a sharp look. "I know business. I assume Ambrose also told you about the vitamins?"

"Yes, but the results haven't come back yet. Have they?"

"No. But did you also know that Assumpta was the one who picked them up from the druggist for her?"

Peter's jaw stiffened. "Brian. No. You are not going to accuse Assumpta of this. What am I saying?! Nothing has happened. And nothing is going to happen. I don't believe that anyone has tried to poison Niamh. I don't even know where this is all coming from."

"Father Mac. I thought Ambrose told you." Brian looked startled, as if he'd made a mistake.

"He did, he said that's what you'd told him that Father Mac told you."

"There was a letter, Father. Ask him about the letter." Brian put his hat back on. "I think I've said enough. All I'm asking is, not to put opportunities into people's hands. Niamh will be eating at home until this is all cleared up."

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"So you're telling me it's true about the loan?"

Assumpta pushed past Peter into the kitchen. "And what about it?"

Peter's mouth gaped open as he followed her. "What about it is, it gives you a prime motive for murder. How much did you borrow?"

Now it was Assumpta's turn to gape. "What—Murder?! You're not saying that I killed Father Mac now, are you? That's not even possible, I was here with the rest of you the entire time."

"Not the entire time," Peter pointed out. "You went out to take that delivery."

Assumpta rolled her eyes. "Which my supplier can confirm." She slammed open one of the cupboards and started pulling out dishes.

Peter made a gesture of impatience with his hand, as if to wipe away the direction the conversation was taking. "Anyway, I wasn't talking about Father Mac. I was talking about Niamh."

"Oh right, now I'm going to off Niamh," she said testily, handing Peter the dishes.

Peter briefly outlined what he knew about the supposed plot against Niamh, leaving out, however, the part about Brian and Ambrose having the vitamins tested. As he talked, Assumpta moved more and more slowly, until she leaned back against the counter, a plate in each hand.

"Oh my God."

"I know, it doesn't make any sense that someone would want to kill Niamh."

"No, oh my God, I can't believe you actually think I might be the one to do it!" Assumpta made a disgusted face, dropped the two plates in her hands onto the pile Peter was holding, and marched into the pantry.

Peter teetered after her, trying not to lose the stack.

"That's not what I— Assumpta!" he called. "I'm only telling you what Ambrose and Brian are saying."

Assumpta's voice wafted out from the depths of the pantry: "Oh, and their opinion should matter to you?"

"Well, it does if Ambrose is in charge of the investigation and Brian is his key witness."

Assumpta came back out with two boxes of paper napkins. She stopped in front of Peter and looked him hard in the eye. "Well, I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. And I'm not planning anything."

"I know that." Assumpta's anger seemed to dissipate in the face of Peter's calm reassurance, leaving her vulnerable and hesitant.

"Do you really think someone was planning to poison her?" she finally asked uncertainly.

"I don't know. But if so, hopefully they've caught it in time."

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Peter closed his car door and breathed in the good, fresh morning dampness. He'd considered coming out to Brian's house on foot, but had taken the car in the end after all, as he might need it if Kieran took ill. He'd offered to watch the baby for a couple of hours while Brian drove Niamh to a doctor's appointment in Cilldargan.

As he walked up the stone walkway, admiring the immaculately trimmed garden and smart, clean house, he found it hard to believe that murder had found its way to this quiet, idyllic community. Oh, he knew that the people here weren't any more perfect than people any place else in the world, but it was so much easier to fit images of senseless violence into the dirt and decay of the inner city, or far-off, war-torn countries, than the green gentleness he had come to know as the Irish countryside. The land here had always had a calming effect on him; apparently not on everyone, though.

"Father Clifford, thank you so much for coming." Niamh had Kieran balanced on one hip when she opened the door. "I'm afraid we're running just a bit late. I've only just gotten him up, he hasn't even had his breakfast yet." She walked quickly back down the hall toward the kitchen, not even checking to see if Peter was following her.

"Here you go, then." She slid Kieran into his high chair and rummaged around in the cupboard for a jar of baby food. "I'll just heat this up, and you can feed him. There's a bottle with formula in the fridge that you can warm up, too. Nappies are in the linen closet in the hall, and he'll go down for a nap around eleven, if we're not back by then."

Peter tried to take note of the instructions as he sat down and entertained Kieran with funny faces.

Niamh looked around the kitchen, seeing if she had forgotten anything, while she waited for the food to heat up in the microwave. Her eye lit on a pretty white box wrapped in cellophane and decorated with a pink ribbon. "What's this?" She picked up the small card tucked under the ribbon. "Aw...." She smiled tenderly.

"Who's it from?" Peter asked with mild curiosity, not even thinking of the potential for foul play.

"Ambrose." Niamh pulled off the wrapping and opened the box. "Sort of a 'cheer-me-up' for all the inconvenience." She picked out a praline and popped it into her mouth. "Caramel," she mumbled around it, a look of pleasure on her face.

Just then, Brian came in. His eye immediately lighted on the box of candies. "Where'd that come from?" he asked sharply. "Father, did you—"

Peter locked eyes with Brian, just now getting a bad feeling. He jumped up and grabbed the box and sniffed at the contents.

Niamh looked dismayed. "Ambrose left them for me," she said with a pout and tried to pull the box away, but Peter held on to it firmly.

"Niamh," he said, as calmly as he could. "Would you mind calling Ambrose? Ask if he really left this for you?"

Brian whipped out his cell phone. "I'm on it," he said, punching a button.

"Of course he did, who else would have left it here?" Niamh said. "What's going on?" She looked uncertainly between Peter and Brian.

Kieran, picking up on the unrest around him, and still without any breakfast, began to whinge. Niamh clucked her tongue, took the baby food out of the microwave, and handed it to Peter.

In the meantime, Brian had a very brief exchange on the phone before snapping it off and taking the candy from Peter. "Did you eat any of these?" he asked his daughter.

"Yes, one," Niamh said with a troubled look. "What is this all about?"

Brian grabbed Niamh's arm and pulled her toward the door. "Peter, you've got Kieran," he bellowed over his shoulder. "These aren't from Ambrose!"

END PART 2


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: First of all, thank you so much Angie K. for your comments. I'm sure others are reading, too, but it's just so nice to actually get some real live feedback. *hint hint* You don't need to log in to leave a comment, just say that you're reading any enjoying it. :-) And now on with...  
_

Smoke and Mirrors in Ballykissangel

Part 3

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Peter knocked on the door jamb leading into Ambrose's office at the garda station. Ambrose, a telephone receiver to his ear, looked up and signalled to Peter to wait one moment.

As soon as he'd left Brian's house (Brian and Niamh having returned a couple of hours later with a clean bill of health), Peter had gone looking for Ambrose at Fitzgerald's, only to be informed by the harried landlady that the garda operations had moved back up to the station, 'and not a moment too soon!'

"Come in, Father," Ambrose said as he hung up the phone. He looked weary as he gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Have a seat. What can I do for you?"

"Ambrose, what is going on? Have you told Niamh? That was too close a call this morning."

"You're right," Ambrose agreed. "I've just been on the phone with Dr. Ryan. The lab tests aren't back yet on the samples from this morning, but the vitamins contained strychnine."

Peter's mouth dropped open, aghast. "I don't believe it."

"It was sloppily done, apparently. Not all of them had the poison in them. Someone had pried open several of the capsules and replaced the contents. Anyone who'd bothered to take a closer look could have told they'd been tampered with. Still, it was close... and I'm willing to bet those chocolates will tell a similar story."

"It wasn't Assumpta," Peter said with vehemence.

Ambrose frowned. "What makes you think she would be a suspect?"

"I assume Brian told you about this supposed loan between Assumpta and Niamh."

"I had heard about that," Ambrose said, evasively.

"Well, you don't set any store by that, do you?"

"All I can say is that we're looking into every angle, Father."

"Does that include a possible connection between this and Father MacAnally's murder?"

"Very much so," Ambrose said, apparently surprised. "I thought that was clear."

"Sorry," Peter said, now confused. "But I don't see how someone trying to poison Niamh is connected to Father MacAnally being shot in the face. Or are you saying that he was poisoned as well?"

"No, he died of a single gunshot wound to the head and the autopsy didn't reveal any traces of poisons in his system. But I thought you knew..." Ambrose swiveled around in his chair and pulled a manila folder down from on top of a filing cabinet. "This is the paper that Father Mac was holding in his hand when he died." He opened the folder and took out a sealed plastic pag containing a ripped and bloody scrap of paper. Peter didn't recall having seen it in the older priest's hand, but then it had been dark, and he'd been too focused on the terrible head wound. At the same moment, though, his memory was jogged about something Brian had mentioned.

"Brian said something about a letter..." Peter murmured, taking the bag from Ambrose and smoothing it down to see the paper inside.

Ambrose sighed. "I'm beginning to wonder who's in charge of this investigation," he muttered. "Yes, there was a letter. As I said, it was in Father Mac's hand when the police arrived. Everyone and their uncle must have seen it. Well, part of a letter, anyway. The bottom half was ripped off, as you can see."

The letter was addressed to the Gardai Siochana, and said basically what Peter had already gathered from his conversations with Brian and Ambrose: That someone had come to the writer of the letter and told of a plan to poison Niamh. It wasn't clear, though, whether Father Mac had revealed the name of the person further down, or even known who it was himself. Nor whether there was any motive, or if it was simply the delusion of a very disturbed person.

This, then, must be what Brian and Father Mac had argued about.

Peter noticed that the letter was typewritten on a plain, white piece of paper, and not on the diocese letterhead, and pointed out the same to Ambrose. "As far as I know, Father MacAnally always used letterhead stationery."

"Yes, we noticed that, too. It could be that he wanted to remain anonymous. To avoid any repercussions for disclosing a confidence made in the confessional."

Peter was doubtful; there were clear allowances for breaking the confidentiality when someone's life was threatened. However, by handing in an anonymous tip, Father Mac could ease his conscience without having to get involved any further. It also made sense as to why he would have done it this way, rather than simply making a phone call: His voice would have been too easily recognizable, and resorting to tricks like attempting to disguise his voice would not have been Father Mac's style.

"If Brian knew about this, though," Peter thought out loud, "why would Father Mac have needed to turn in the tip anonymously?"

"Brian says that Father Mac called him earlier in the day to tell him to warn Niamh. Brian told him he had to go to the police, officially, but apparently Father Mac didn't want to get dragged in too far. He wanted to keep himself out of it completely, which is why he didn't go directly to Niamh or to me. He thought he could trust Brian to keep his name out of it, while still seeing to it that Niamh got the protection she needed."

"Two old foxes sticking together."

"Something like that. But it looks like someone else got wind of their conversation, or knew that Father Mac was about to expose them."

"Did Brian say whether Father Mac knew who it was?"

Ambrose shook his head. "Unfortunately not. We don't know whether he knew it, and was keeping it to himself... or maybe he named the person in that letter. That could be why part of it is ripped away. There was likely a struggle over it, and when Father Mac put up a fight, the perpetrator shot him, thinking to get the letter away from him that way."

"But then Brendan turned up and scared him away," Peter finished the story.

"Brendan or someone else," Ambrose agreed. "Brendan says he didn't see anyone."

"It was dark, though, and Brendan was probably so shocked by seeing Father Mac like that that he wouldn't have noticed someone off in the shadows."

"Probably not."

"But then it couldn't have been Assumpta trying to poison Niamh," Peter pointed out triumphantly, "as she couldn't have shot Father Mac."

Ambrose hesitated. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Wha—Of course I'm sure, Ambrose. Don't tell me you're not!"

"She left the pub during the questionable time."

"And she has a witness! She met with a supplier out in the street, took a delivery."

"He only unloaded his kegs and took payment. It was a matter of not more than a minute. Believe me, those types don't want to hang around and be caught with illegal booze in their vehicle, especially right across from a garda station."

"Still, she wasn't outside for long enough—"

"Can you pinpoint exactly at what time she left the pub, and what time she returned?"

"No," Peter answered uncomfortably, "but it can't have been more than a couple of minutes."

"I'm afraid that won't stand up in a court. And it doesn't take more than a couple of minutes to run up here, shoot a man, and run back down to the pub."

"But surely someone else must have seen her—"

"She says she ran into one of those monks outside, as she was stowing the kegs on the side of the building. But of course he had his hood up, obscuring his face. She couldn't give any kind of description."

"But you can ask them then! There aren't that many of them. Surely one of them will remember seeing her—"

Ambrose held up one hand. "We're already on it, Peter. I don't want her to be guilty any more than you do, but we have to go by the book on this. They're already talking of taking me off the case, as being too personally involved."

"You? You mean because Niamh was mentioned in the letter?"

Ambrose smiled ruefully. "As you can imagine, in poisoning cases, the strongest suspects are usually those closest to the victim."

"But you don't mean that they think that you—"

"They have to go by the book, as I said. And I'm glad. We have to get to the bottom of this. Don't imagine that I'm comfortable with someone out there trying to poison my wife."

"And if it isn't Assumpta..."

"Then I'm the next best suspect," Ambrose confirmed.

"Or Brian," Peter pointed out.

Ambrose shook his head. "Believe what you will about Brian, but he would never poison Niamh. She means more to him that his own life. More than money. And that's saying something."

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"Are you sure you can't remember anything more about him?" Peter pleaded.

"A frock, a hood, what's to remember?" Assumpta retorted, exasperated, as she placed his drink on the bar in front of him. "I already told Ambrose. Besides, you don't think a monk killed Father Mac, do you?"

"No, but he would give you an alibi," Peter explained.

"I don't need an alibi, Peter; I didn't do anything!" Assumpta huffed away, leaving Niamh alone behind the bar.

"You talking about the night Father MacAnally was murdered in cold blood, right across the street from here?" Liam leaned around his date to talk to Peter.

"Yes, Liam," Peter sighed. Then a thought occurred to him. "Say, Liam... You were here, too, weren't you?" He thought he remembered Liam's face somewhere on that night, but couldn't place the time.

"Sure, I was there. Saw the whole thing." Liam looked slyly at the young woman on the stool next to him.

"What do you mean? You saw Father Mac being shot?" Peter gave a little laugh. That was ridiculous, of course. Ambrose had interviewed everyone, and a direct eyewitness was not something that would have been swept under the rug.

"Your monk," Liam said, taking a sip from his bottle.

"You saw a monk? The same one Assumpta saw?"

"Could be," Liam said, now enjoying being the center of attention.

"But that means you would have seen Assumpta, too," Peter said eagerly.

"Car drove by just then. Headlights got in my eyes."

"Ah right," Peter said with a sour smile. It seemed that Liam was just playing things up to impress his lady friend.

"No, it's true," Liam insisted. "I was coming over the bridge, and didn't I see one of them monks running over to Fitzgerald's. Think I got a pretty good look at his face in the street light. Just then a car comes onto the bridge. Near blinded me."

"Well, have you told Ambrose about this?" Peter asked, now uncertain what to think about the veracity of Liam's story. "It could be that that monk is important to the investigation."

"Maybe I will, maybe I will," Liam said, and winked at his date.

Peter and Niamh exchanged a look, and Niamh rolled her eyes.

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"Did you see any monk, Brendan?" Peter was sitting in his friend's kitchen, a cup of coffee clutched between both hands.

Brendan frowned, then shook his head. "Sorry, can't remember. I don't know I would have noticed it even if I'd seen one in the street. They were all over that weekend, you know."

"I know," Peter said glumly.

"Why do you think it's so important?"

"Things aren't looking too good for Assumpta," Peter confided. "If only we could find that monk. He might be able to give Assumpta a better alibi."

"Maybe he has a reason not to come forward," Brendan mused.

"Do you mean because he was out after his curfew?"

"I mean maybe he's the man everyone's looking for," Brendan said ominously.

"You think he killed Father Mac?"

Brendan shrugged with a knowing look on his face.

"But that would mean that he'd been planning to poison Niamh." Peter had to take a moment to explain the whole poisoning plot to Brendan. "And what possible reason would a perfect stranger have to come to town, just to poison Niamh Egan? There's no connection. And the chocolates showed up long after the monks had left."

"I didn't know about that," Brendan admitted. "But that still doesn't mean that the monk didn't kill Father Mac."

Peter was confused for a moment, but then a light went on. Maybe the entire investigation was chasing down a red herring!

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"Are you sure the letter and the poisoning were the motive for the murder?" Peter asked Ambrose excitedly. He had rushed over to the garda station after he'd left Brendan's. If the two were completely separate, it shed a whole new light on things. Or rather, turned off what little light there had been. Because if Father Mac's murderer wasn't the person who had put poison in Niamh's vitamins and chocolates, then they were left with no motive whatsoever, and even fewer suspects. But at least it moved the attention away from Assumpta, which could only be a good thing, in Peter's mind.

"That is still the most obvious option," Ambrose said. "But as I've said, we're leaving no stone unturned. There are other theories being bounced around."

"In fact, it seems rather too easy that part of that letter was left at the scene. Almost as if the murderer wanted it to be found, to mislead the investigation."

"That's certainly something that's being considered," Ambrose agreed. "Oh, by the way," he added, pulling a sheet of paper out of a pile on his desk. "The analysis on the chocolates came back. Strychine," he said grimly, "but again, only in a few. The rest were clean. And it was messy, obvious hole in the bottom. If Niamh had picked one of them up, I doubt she would have eaten it."

"Let's just be glad it never came to a test of that theory," Peter said.

"Agreed. Obviously, I've had to fill Niamh in on the entire story."

"How'd she take it?" Peter asked, already wincing.

Ambrose blew out a breath. "She was angry," he said. "Said I shouldn't have kept it from her. She's right, of course."

"You were only trying to protect her. You didn't know anyone could get that close."

"She's going to go away for a while. Until we've gotten to the bottom of things. No sense taking chances. She's upstairs packing right now, in fact."

"Ambrose, I'm sorry. Sorry it had to come to this. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling."

"I'm doing fine, Father. I'm angry, though. I'm going to track down whoever is behind this and make him pay, you mark my words." He stood and came around the desk to escort Peter to the door.

Peter stood up as well. "I'll help you in any way I can."

"There is something you can do, actually," Ambrose said, pausing in the doorway. "We've decided it would be best if no one knows where Niamh is going. Not even me."

"But what if something happens, if you need to contact her? How will she know when it's safe to come back?"

Ambrose nodded. "She'll be giving you an envelope, if you agree. Her location and a means of contacting her will be in there."

"I'll do it, of course, but why me? She doesn't think you have anything to do with this, does she?"

"I certainly hope not, but I agree that for the sake of appearances and to keep everything above board, the fewer people know where she is, the better. Leaks tend to have a way of appearing. And she'll only eat food she prepares herself, bought straight from the market."

Peter nodded and went upstairs, where he found Niamh in her bedroom, an open suitcase on the bed.

"Knock, knock," he said, rapping his knuckles on the open door.

"Oh bless you, Father," Niamh said, sounding more than a little frazzled. "I don't know whether I'm coming or going. All these upsets have got me going in circles."

Peter came in and put his hands on her shoulders. "Niamh. Look at me." He caught her eye and tried to communicate his reassurance. "You're going to be fine. Kieran will be fine. Ambrose is going to catch whoever is doing this."

Niamh swallowed, her lip trembling. "I know."

"I'm so sorry about all this," Peter said, nodding toward the suitcase.

Niamh shook her head and turned away to fetch a tissue from the box on top of the dresser. "Don't be, Father. After all, you aren't trying to poison me. And nor did you kill Father Mac." She blew her nose.

"No, but I still sympathize with you," Peter said. "It must be awful, not knowing who it is. Nor why." He hesitated, then asked, "You don't believe it's Assumpta because of the loan, do you?"

Niamh looked at him sharply. "Who told you about that? My father, no doubt." She sighed and pulled a pile of clothes out of the dresser, then dumped them into the suitcase. "He's just trying to protect my interests. I suppose I can't blame him. And anyway, Assumpta and I have now drawn up an official IOU and had it notarized. She has no motive anymore. Not that ever did, of course." She walked across the hall to the bathroom.

"Do you have any idea of who it might be, or why?" Peter called after her.

Niamh came back in with a bottle of shampoo and a necessaire. "You mean who's trying to poison me, or who killed Father Mac?"

"You don't think it's the same person, either?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Ambrose thinks it's two different people anyway." She cringed and gave Peter a guilty smile. "I probably shouldn't have told you that. Ongoing investigations and all. At least you're not a suspect for either one."

Peter laughed. "Don't worry, he already told me. And I'd come to the same conclusion myself, as well as Brendan."

"He's a suspect himself, you know," Niamh mentioned casually as she pushed the suitcase closed.

"Brendan?"

"Didn't you know that Father Mac's on the school board that's reviewing Brendan's performance?"

"Well, he obviously wouldn't need to kill Father Mac in order to get a good review. His work is beyond reproach. And there are four other board members. Don't you think it would look a bit suspicious if they all came down with a case of lead poisoning? No, there must be some other motive. If not the poisoning, and if not the school board, what then?" After a moment, he added, "And what does Mossy Phelan have to do with all of this?

"Mossy?"

"Well, he was there that night, too. And since then... nothing."

"He and my father had a difference of opinion over an unrelated business matter," Niamh said, as if it were an unimportant detail.

"Are you sure it was unrelated? Brian and Father Mac had a rather heated discussion just before he was killed. Brian said it was about the poisoning story, but it might have been about something else. I found it a bit odd that your father came to me afterwards and told me the content of that conversation. I hadn't asked him about it, and he didn't know that I'd overheard it. Ambrose must have told him I'd mentioned it, and asked him about it that night during the questioning. He questioned me first, you know."

"No, I didn't know," Niamh said slowly. "Are you suggesting that my father lied to you? That Father Mac didn't come to him to tell him that someone had confessed that they were going to poison me? But why would he lie about that? And how else would he have known about it?"

"The letter?" Peter suggested. "Maybe he saw the letter while they were talking. And he would have lied about the conversation in order to deflect suspicion from himself. In order to not have to reveal the true content of that conversation."

Niamh's ire was raised. "You aren't suggesting that my father killed Father Mac, are you? He couldn't have! He was in the kitchen with Mossy Phelan the whole time!"

Peter had to admit that was true. "But I still want to know what Mossy has to do with all this."

Niamh shrugged and hefted the suitcase down from the bed. "Probably nothing. Not everyone has to have something to do with this. I just don't know what to think. All I want to say is, don't trust anyone. Please, be careful."

She put the suitcase down and picked up an envelope from the dresser, holding it out to Peter. "And don't share this with anyone."

Peter took the sealed envelope and turned it over in his hands.

"It would be best if you kept it sealed unless someone needed to contact me," Niamh said. "I'll send Ambrose emails daily. He'll come to you if he needs to find me, or to tell me when it's safe to come back."

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I don't know. I hope so. Thanks, Father."

Peter trotted back down the stairs, thinking over what Niamh and Ambrose had told him. It looked like both of them thought something else was going on, something larger than the attempted poisonings, that related to Father Mac's murder. At least things were looking better for Assumpta, though. He knew that she couldn't be involved in either crime.

When he got to Ambrose's office, the garda was on the phone again. Peter was just going to wave his good-bye when Ambrose quietly laid the receiver down, looking ashen.

"There's been an accident," he said, almost mechanically. "Liam Cochlan is dead."

END PART 3

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Author's note: Next part is the wrap-up. So soon? Who do you think it is?


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: Thanks to everyone for the reviews! I am really nervous about posting this now. I hope it all makes sense and isn't disappointing. ;-)_

**Smoke and Mirrors in Ballykissangel**

**Part 4**

"It's terrible!"

"I can't believe it! Liam!"

"Just last night I saw him, he was the picture of health!"

Fitzgerald's was buzzing with locals that night, speculating on the latest tragedy to strike Ballykissangel. Peter was interested to see that Mossy Phelan was amongst those present, and vowed to keep a close eye on him.

"What exactly happened?" Peter was trying to make heads or tails of all the conversations around him.

"Apparently, he went off the road between Cilldargan and Dunadee," Siobhan, who was sitting next to him, explained. "You know, that narrow curve with the steep embankment on one side?"

Peter could just about imagine where she meant. There wasn't even a railing there, just reflective posts to alert drivers of the curve in the road. But Liam knew that stretch like the back of his hand, must have driven it hundreds of times. The only thing Peter could think of was that he'd had to veer to avoid hitting an oncoming car that had taken the curve too wide. "Was anyone else involved?" he asked.

Siobhan shook her head. "Too early to tell. At least Eamonn didn't see anyone else up on the road. He was the one who discovered the wreck. Fell onto one of his pastures."

"Awful," Peter said, feeling sickened by the report.

"Tis," Siobhan agreed, and took poked at her drink. Clearly, she was also not feeling in the best form at the moment.

"D'you think it had anything to do with Father Mac's murder?" Padraig ventured from Siobhan's other side.

"How do you mean?" Peter asked.

"Well, maybe he was their man. Investigators closing in on him. Couldn't take the heat."

"Suicide?" Peter was aghast.

"Stranger things have happened," Siobhan commented.

"But why in the world would Liam have wanted to kill Father Mac?"

"Jealousy ... money ... cover-up ... the usual," Padraig mumbled.

"Cover-up could be right," a man on Peter's other side interjected. "Remember he was blabbing the other night about seeing that mysterious monk the night of the murder? Maybe he was too close to the mark. Had to be silenced."

Everyone thought about this for a moment.

"Could be like that albino in that movie..." Padraig suggested ominously. "What was it called?"

"The DaVinci Code," Siobhan supplied.

"That's the one," Padraig agreed. "The one with all the blood. Could be a big Vatican cover-up."

"Oh, stop it, all of you," Peter said, disgusted. "There was no Vatican cover-up."

"Still, maybe Liam was onto something. If it was that monk, he wouldn't want to be fingered," the man concluded.

Peter was about to point out that there had been no monk in the pub on the night when Liam had been talking about it, and therefore he wouldn't have known that Liam had seen him, when he noticed that Mossy had gotten up from his table and was on his way to the door, looking pale.

Peter excused himself and pushed his way through the crowd to follow him, but by the time he got outside, Mossy was nowhere in sight. He blew out a breath in frustration. He was certain that the man knew more than he was letting on.

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Both the murder and Liam's accident continued to be the talk of the town for the next several days. Peter had no more time to consult with Ambrose, as he had to take extra duties until the diocese could send a new parish priest.

One day, Peter found himself once again in Hendley's, making a few necessary purchases. He recalled the collection box that he had put his spare change into the last time, and looked for it again at the register, but didn't see it.

When he mentioned it to Kathleen, she frowned a little and said, "It's a funny thing. Ambrose came in yesterday and took it. Said he needed it as evidence." She didn't know any more about it, and Peter left with a funny feeling in his stomach.

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"Do you have a minute, Father?" Ambrose stood at the door of the vestry, where Peter was struggling to sew up the hem of one of his vestments that had gotten caught in the car door that morning.

"Sure, Ambrose," Peter said, glad to straighten his back for a moment. "What's up?"

"I'll be wanting that envelope now. The one from Niamh." He sounded very business-like, which gave Peter a sinking feeling.

"So you've cracked the case, then?" he asked cautiously.

Ambrose gave a curt nod. "Unfortunately. I'd rather not bring Niamh back until the worst of it's over, but it'll be all over the papers tomorrow. Better she hears it from me."

"I'm not sure I follow you, Ambrose... Who was it?"

Ambrose's jaw clenched, and for a moment, Peter thought that he looked like he was going to cry, but he was able to get out the one word: "Brian."

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"He never tried to poison her," Assumpta explained. "He put the poison in the vitamins and chocolates after he'd taken them from Niamh, before he turned the samples over to Ambrose, to mislead the investigation."

"Then the letter—"

"Was also planted, after he shot him."

Peter was sitting in the kitchen at Fitzgerald's. The pub wasn't open yet, but Assumpta had asked Peter over so that she could fill him in on what Niamh had told her on the phone. She'd decided not to come back just yet.

"But they did argue," Peter recalled. "Father MacAnally was going to tell Ambrose something."

"Oh yes, about Wicklow Catholic Charities. The old sneak had set it up to funnel donations into his own pockets, as well as to launder dirty money from his other scams."

"But how did he do it? He was at the pub the whole time that night."

"Did you actually see him? That was the brilliant part. Mossy was in on it, although he didn't know he was being set up as an accomplice to murder. He just had to keep his end of the argument going long enough and loud enough to make everyone out there think that Brian was in here with him. When he heard about Liam's accident, though, he got cold feet. Thought he might be next for silencing."

"So was Liam's death an accident or not?"

"I don't know if we'll ever know. Niamh says the gardai couldn't find anything to indicate the truck had been tampered with. The autopsy was clean as well."

"And Brian's not telling."

"Not yet, anyway. Give him a few days in gaol, he might beg for a plea-bargain."

"So how did Brian do it? You said we were only supposed to think he was in the kitchen with Mossy. How did he get out?"

Assumpta walked over to the back door and swung it open.

Peter slapped himself on the forehead. "Are we all eejits!"

"Luckily Ambrose isn't. I remember, that was one of the first things he did that night when he came in here to set up his temporary headquarters, was to check whether the door was locked."

"It wasn't."

"Nope." She closed the door again and went to lean back against the sink.

"But someone would have seen him," Peter pointed out. "He must have had incredible luck, to get over to the station and back without you, Liam, Brendan, or your supplier seeing him."

"Luck... or a monk's robe."

Peter's mouth dropped open, and he couldn't help laughing a little.

"You mean..."

Assumpta nodded. "Yup. He was the monk I saw. Or at least, that's what they're assuming. Plus, it was dark. Even without the robes, he might have been able to do it."

"So he slipped out, wearing the robe, ran up to the station, intercepted Father Mac before he could drop the letter into the mailbox, shot him, planted the fake letter, and ran back in time to reappear with Mossy coming out of the kitchen."

"Niamh said that his cell phone records show he made one more call to Father Mac after you'd left him up at the church. Probably said something along the lines of him regretting what he said, and that he'd meet him at the station to turn himself in. He also knew that Ambrose was in charge of Kieran that night, and that he always takes him out in his pram to get him to go to sleep."

"But he must have been planning it for some time. The poisoning..."

"He made that up after the fact, remember."

"I'm not so sure," Peter said, feeling himself get hot at the realization that he'd never told anyone about the mysterious visitor to his confessional. He wondered now whether that had been Brian, already planting the seeds of his nefarious plot. "He had to write that letter beforehand, in order to have it ready. He had to get a set of robes for his disguise."

"I think that last one may have been a case of opportunity striking," Assumpta said. "One of the monks staying here that weekend had spilled soup all over himself at lunch, and I'd washed the robes for him. They were in here as well, folded up right over there, waiting to be returned to him."

"And all that to avoid getting caught with his hand in the cookie-jar himself. I always thought Brian's ethics were somewhat questionable, but to resort to murder..."

"I know. I never would have believed it of him myself. If you ask me, I think he did it for Niamh – and Kieran – more than for himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He knew he would be convicted with the evidence that Father Mac had gathered on the fake charity. And the Church wouldn't let him get off with a slap on the wrist. He was looking at hard time. He didn't want to disappoint his daughter and grandson. And the tragedy is, it ended up being a hundred times worse."

"How is Niamh doing, by the way?"

"She's devastated, of course. But she's strong. She'll come through this. They're going to stay away another week, she said. At least until the next big story takes over the headlines."

"And how about you? I was worried about you, you know."

Assumpta blinked, her eyes large. "You were? Didn't think someone was out to poison me or murder me in my sleep, did you?"

Peter smirked. "No, I just... wanted to see justice served. I knew all along you didn't have anything to do with it."

"Oh, and how did you know that?" Assumpta teased. "I had a large, undocumented loan from Niamh, was Brian's business rival, was known to hate Father Mac with a vengeance..."

"Because I know you, Assumpta Fitzgerald. I know you." He held her gaze.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly, after a moment.

Peter smiled and looked down. "Probably not." As usually happened when he was alone with Assumpta, an uncomfortable silence spread through the room. "Well, I'd better be going. New PP's coming today, wants me to show him around." He stood and brushed off his trousers.

"Ah, right," Assumpta said, smirking slightly. "Duty calls."

As Peter went to the door, Assumpta called after him, "Hey Peter..."

He paused and turned back, one hand on the door jamb. "Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Sure. For what?"

"For believing in me."

Peter ducked his head and went out.

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THE END

_So? Did you guess right? Let me know what you thought. :-)_


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